


Twist Again

by jedusaur



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clubbing, Drunk Sex, M/M, Manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: "Slut," Eric says to the chipped, smudged mirror. "Trollop. Floozy. Gentleman of ill repute." He bounces on the balls of his feet, testing different hip-cocking angles for maximum sex appeal. "You are not leaving this establishment without a willing and eager companion," he tells his reflection firmly. "Nobody wants to fuck a wet blanket, but nobody. Put some bounce in that hiney and go get yourself laid.""Yes,sir," someone says from one of the stalls.





	Twist Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambersnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersnake/gifts).



> Fandom Loves Puerto Rico auction fic! This bidder asked for a "flavor of slight dubcon," so tread carefully if that's not your thing--I wouldn't consider any of this actual dubcon, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing it might read that way. And if you enjoy this, think about kicking a couple bucks to [ConPRmetidos](http://www.conprmetidos.org) to help out Puerto Rico.

"Slut," Eric says to the chipped, smudged mirror. "Trollop. Floozy. Gentleman of ill repute." He bounces on the balls of his feet, testing different hip-cocking angles for maximum sex appeal. "You are not leaving this establishment without a willing and eager companion," he tells his reflection firmly. "Nobody wants to fuck a wet blanket, but nobody. Put some bounce in that hiney and go get yourself laid."

"Yes, _sir,_ " someone says from one of the stalls.

Eric just about jumps out of his skintight jeans. "Sorry!" he yelps. "I thought no one else was in here."

"Hey, man, you hear me complaining?" The toilet flushes and a cute blond guy wearing a backwards baseball cap emerges, grinning. "I've never felt more ready to lock down some ass in my life. Thanks for the pep talk."

"Uh. You betcha. Good luck?"

Eric fusses with his hair while the guy washes his hands and they leave at the same time, stumbling a little over who holds the door. Not sexy, Eric lectures himself silently, and tries to channel a little Tyra to regain his dignity on the way back to the bar. He'll need a minute to get his head together before he's ready to hit the dance floor, he thinks.

He keeps track of the guys he spots eyeing him, for later. When he's got enough liquid courage in him, it'll help to have potential targets to sidle up to. He hasn't done this before, not with his heart so fully set on ending the night with a dick up him, but he's been to clubs and seen people sizing him up. There's no shortage of men here with similar goals for the night, though none of them have caught his eye quite yet.

Except the blond guy from the bathroom, who keeps smirking at him. Which is embarrassing, but he really has no one but himself to blame for it.

Two shots and a few minutes of absentminded hip-shimmying later, the wave of people in search of alcohol edges Eric away from the bar and into the crowd. He goes willingly, letting the entropy of bodies carry him wherever, moving in time with whoever happens to be pressed against him. The music is reassuringly familiar, all top-40 hits from the last ten years set to a generic dance beat, all the drops entirely predictable fifteen seconds out. It's exactly what Eric needs tonight.

He's not yet drunk enough to forget to hydrate, and that's where he runs into his bathroom buddy again--Kent, if his lip-reading skills are up to scratch. The next sentence after the introduction is beyond him, though, and he shivers as Kent's mouth brushes against his ear in an attempt to match volume with the music.

"So who's in the running?" he thinks Kent is asking.

Eric looks around, considering his options. There's a long-haired guy staring at him who's kind of cute but also kind of gives him the creeps, and there's one who looks too young to be drinking the icy pink thing he's clutching. Eric points them out unenthusiastically. There are others he thinks he could have if he wanted, but these are the better-looking ones.

"Try the jailbait first," Kent suggests, only it doesn't sound like a suggestion. Eric glances up at his face to see if he's joking. He's smiling a little, just a hint of a dimple right at the corner of his mouth, but he meets Eric's eyes like a challenge.

Heat rushes to Eric's cheeks, and he turns away in case the flush is visible under the colored lights. The young guy makes eye contact and nervously looks away. He's barely drunk any of his cocktail, though he's nibbled all the fruit off the straw. Eric feels more like making the kid a mug of hot chocolate and tucking him into bed than having sex with him.

Well, even if he's not Eric's hookup for the night, he might appreciate a friendly face. Eric makes his way over and asks gently, "You all right there, sweetie?"

"Sweetie?" the kid says incredulously. "Fuck _off._ " He flounces off to the other end of the bar with his ridiculous drink, shooting stinkeyes behind him.

Eric grumpily orders another shot and downs it. Kent is openly laughing like an asshole. There's really no reason for Eric to squeeze through the crowd to get back to him, but he does. "Rude," he scolds, though the effect is dampened by having to stand on tiptoes to get his mouth close enough to Kent's ear to be heard.

Kent draws back and smiles at him, a real smile with the full dimple, right as that last shot hits Eric's bloodstream. It's a very nice smile, Eric thinks, dazed from the alcohol. 

"Try the other one," Kent says, and nudges Eric's hip toward the guy with the long hair.

 _Angry, bored, and vengeful,_ Eric tells himself, but it's hard to work up a good top-model swagger when he has to pause to excuse himself for bumping into someone else every two feet. The long-haired guy doesn't seem to mind the lack of grace; he comes to meet Eric halfway, and makes a clumsy attempt to dance with him for about fifteen seconds before going for a kiss. His breath is awful.

Eric extricates himself as politely as possible under the circumstances and, for reasons he chooses not to acknowledge just yet, finds his way back to Kent.

Kent is dancing with someone else, a broad-shouldered guy with cheekbones to die for. The two of them are beautiful together. Eric is turning away, disappointed, when Kent grabs him around the waist and pulls him closer. "I found you a better one," he shouts, and smoothly swings Eric into the guy's arms.

"Well, hey there," the guy mouths, clearly feeling what's happening in Eric's pants in response to the manhandling. Eric gazes up at him, feeling his body fall naturally into the rhythm of the guy's hips. He's hot, much hotter than Eric would have thought to try for, but he seems interested. And he's a good dancer, and his breath is pleasantly odor-free. When Eric steps back, he tilts his head inquisitively, but respects Eric's space like a gentleman.

Eric looks over his shoulder. Kent hasn't gone far.

He reaches out and draws Kent in by the wrist. Kent leans down and says, "No good?"

"He's perfect," Eric says. His bottom lip catches Kent's earlobe. "Should I leave with him?"

Kent's arms snake around Eric's waist, skimming the strip of bare skin at the hem of his shirt. "No," he says, and his fingers brush the curve of Eric's ass.

Hot certainty spreads through Eric's gut, a rush of relief. He presses close and lets Kent take over.

He doesn't know how long they dance, Kent holding his waist, his arms around Kent's neck, legs interlocked, grinding and squeezing and dragging mouths over sweaty skin until finally their lips catch one another. All he knows is that one moment it's _in and you're out you're up and you're down_ while they're moving to the beat, and the next moment it's _here we are, don't turn away now_ while he's being shoved up against a wall with a tongue down his throat, and then it's _up all night to get lucky_ while he's tumbling out the door and into a Lyft that someone else must have paid for.

Kent's chest is incredible. Eric has no idea where they go or how long it takes to get there, he's so obsessed with getting his hands on all that gorgeous toned flesh. Kent's shirt is soft and very forgiving of all the rough treatment Eric inflicts on it as he explores the sharp creases between muscles, straddling Kent's lap for better access. Kent lets him do what he wants, staring up at him, promise dark in his eyes.

Eventually they end up in a very nice apartment with a very nice bedroom in it, none of which Eric gets much of a chance to look at before he lands flat on his back on a huge bed with Kent pinning down his arms and whispering, "So tell me, what's got you so damn desperate to get fucked tonight?"

Eric moans and writhes, trying to distract him, because 'I just got dumped' is kind of a mood-killer, but Kent just tightens his grip on Eric's wrists and waits. Eric sighs.

"I'm trying to move on from a breakup," he says, a little apologetically.

"Mmmm." Kent bites his neck. "You're hung up on some guy and you're hoping I'll fuck him out of your head?"

Eric lolls his head back, baring his throat to give Kent better access. "That's the-- _ahhh!_ \--idea, yeah."

Kent grasps Eric's hair, pulling his head even further back, and presses his mouth against Eric's ear just like he did in the club. Eric can feel the heat of Kent's breath on his skin for a scorching half-second before he growls, "Challenge accepted."

Before he knows what's happening, Eric is facedown with lube dripping down his asscrack. He moans, breathy and pleading, and full-body shivers as Kent's tongue trails down and up his spine. He feels a finger slip into him, gentle but hardly tentative, then another when the first goes in easy, and it's not another minute until Eric starts begging and doesn't stop until Kent finally, finally pulls out his fingers and gives Eric what he needs.

Kent fucks him like he's proving something. Eric is all too willing to be convinced, half-smothering himself in the pillow as he eagerly thrusts his ass back to meet Kent's cock, wedging a knee against the mattress for leverage until Kent knocks it out from under him in favor of spreading his legs as wide as they'll go and burying his dick so deep his hipbones are going to leave marks. Eric submits to it all, gratefully losing time to the rhythm of the fucking like he lost himself in the rhythm of the music at the club.

After Kent comes, he flips Eric over again and sucks him off, suddenly slow and torturous. Eric pleads shamelessly for Kent's fingers inside him, then to be allowed to come; he doesn't get either, just Kent's hot wet tight throat, easing back every time Eric feels like he's nearing the edge. He's tearing up by the time Kent is ready to fuck him again, and full-on crying before Kent finally, finally wraps a hand around Eric's cock and pounds him mercilessly to orgasm. He doesn't stop after that, not until he comes again, and by then Eric is a complete sobbing wreck.

Kent rolls off him and gently rubs his back as he takes deep, shuddery breaths, recovering. When he's calmed down, Kent says softly, "Was that what you were looking for?"

Eric nods as vigorously as he can, too exhausted to say more. He lifts his head to let Kent turn over the pillow to the dry side, settles back into the proffered big spoon, and falls asleep instantly.

He wakes up in the morning to a glass of water, a weirdly comprehensive selection of painkillers, and a Post-It apology from Kent for having to go to work. Eric drowsily wonders what kind of job requires a person to show up at nine in the morning on a Sunday, and then wonders what kind of person goes out clubbing and hooking up when they know they'll have to be up early for work, and then the Advil kicks in and he falls back asleep. The next time he wakes up, Kent is slipping back into bed with him, shower-damp and impossible not to kiss.

Kent kisses back lazily and says, "So, how many times do you think you'll need to do that to get over your ex?"

Through the kiss, Eric mumbles, "How many times you think you can go?"

Kent breaks away to laugh. "Challenge accepted," he says, and rolls on top of Eric.


End file.
